


Marked Moments

by CelestialSeaWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Anonymous Sex, Breeding, Enkuopoiphilia, F/M, Hermione/James, Impregnation, Jamione - Freeform, Kink, Marriage, Mating Rituals, NSFW, One Shot, One-Shot, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Romantic Soulmates, Smut, Soulmates, Wicca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialSeaWitch/pseuds/CelestialSeaWitch
Summary: "It sounded so impossibly naughty in Hermione’s mind. Her Christian parents would about keel over in shock if they knew their good little girl was preparing herself for pre-marital sex, in a forest, with a total stranger." One-shot Jamione. NSFW
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter
Comments: 82
Kudos: 338
Collections: A Devious & Diverse New Year





	Marked Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ADeviousDiverseNewYear](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ADeviousDiverseNewYear) collection. 



Marked Moments

A ritual mating. 

It sounded so impossibly naughty in Hermione’s mind. Her Christian parents would about keel over in shock if they knew their good little girl was preparing herself for pre-marital sex, in a forest, with a total stranger.

Well, Hermione thought, the man might not end up being a stranger and technically it wouldn’t be pre-marital. The sex would join the two of them together in a full, permanent marriage bond. 

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited for the ritual. No matter how daunting it was to enter into such an important magical ritual, the idea of meeting her magical match was exciting. It wasn’t what she’d signed up for at the start, but it was something she’d found herself looking forward to in the weeks leading up to the Wiccan festival of Ostara. 

A Wiccan festival, she thought with disbelief. She'd have never believed it if someone had told her just six months ago that she'd be included in some sort of secret society. 

Joining the Cult of the Goddesses had made sense at the time. She was a young, intelligent witch who’d accidentally entered into a whole world of ritual magic that she didn’t know or understand. Ritual magic didn’t follow the same rules as the Wizarding World and it wasn't wildly known about either. Hermione had been immediately overwhelmed and the all-female coven, the Cult of Goddesses, had offered her answers and safety. 

The book, The Secrets of Wicca, had said the ritual would help her find her patron goddess -- not induct her into an occult magical part of the Wizarding World. If Hermione had known that reading the book and doing the Awakening Ritual written within its pages were going to lead her here, she likely never would have opened the book in the first place.

Hermione sighed as looked at herself in the reflection of the pond at her feet. It wasn’t true. She’d have still done it. She craved knowledge. She yearned to be surrounded by new ideas and foreign concepts. Even then, on the eve of a mass mating ritual with a male coven that she'd never met before, Hermione’s body was electric and tingling with anticipation.

It wasn't just the prospect of entering into her first major ritual, but the thought of possibly meeting her magical match. They were the Wizarding World's equivalent of soulmates and getting to meet her own would be incredible. She didn't think she could pass up such a special opportunity. There was a massive chance that she wouldn't meet her magical match that night, but the prospect was exciting nonetheless. She was unable to ignore the small light of hope in her chest that the thought of a soulmate ignited.

Hermione could admit she was lonely. She had been for years, sometimes it felt like she'd always been alone. Working as a Hit Witch with the International Confederation of Wizards after Hogwarts had been interesting and exciting. But moving from hotel to hotel, living off of takeout food and seeing her parents even less than when she'd been in school was hard. It felt necessary at the time, fighting the good fight came with consequences. She'd wanted to make a difference in the world and while being a Hit Witch hadn't been her where she'd thought she'd end up when she was fifteen, she'd enjoyed it.

She'd enjoyed up until that firey purple curse that Antonin Dolohov had sent her way slashed through her body and nearly killed her. She was stuck in a hospital in Russia for nearly three weeks before she was finally transferred to St. Mungos. It had taken months before she was released into the care of her parents. They'd been horrified at the sight of the scar and she really couldn't blame them.

The young witch looked down at her chest where the white scar of Antonin Dolohov’s curse stood out starkly against her tanned flesh. Hidden under the white Grecian robes she wore, the puckered scar bisected her body down to her belly button where it twisted her once blemish-free skin. 

Hermione looked up, tears in her eyes that she quickly blinked away. 

She hated it. She hated the ugly thing that marred her skin. She hated the pitying and horrified looks she’d gotten from her coworkers and parents. Months of recovery had been followed by pity and backhanded comments about how she was “still pretty” and “don’t worry, someone will see you under the scars.” 

Hermione had left her job as soon as she could and had immediately been poached for hire by the Department of Mysteries. Deep in the stacks of their ancient and powerful library, she’d uncovered The Secrets of Wicca. There, she’d found a spark of hope that her body would be her own again. She wanted to remove the mark Antonin Dolohov had left on her -- as if he had any right at all to claim her body like a piece of land.

Her body was her own. She had wanted to take it back and she still did. 

The book had explained the way a patron god or goddess guided their witch. It expounded on the benefits, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Gods were supposed to be all-powerful. Hermione had hoped that hers would take this mark from her body and return her to her former state.

That, of course, hadn’t happened. Nothing was ever simple. Instead of ridding herself of the cursed scar across her torso, she’d gained a guide in the Great Mother Goddess, Gaia. With that, had come the sudden and inexplicable desire to have a baby.

She had not signed up for that.

Her life was a mess. She’d just moved out of her parents’ house. She only finished her probationary period with the DoM a week before the Awakening Ritual. Now, the sight of a little chubby-cheeked pooper practically had her melting into a puddle. She’d had sex once since her attack and when she got her period a week later she’d balled her eyes out. It was ridiculous, she’d made sure she wouldn’t get pregnant -- she knew she hadn't been. But it hadn't mattered. Gaia had unlocked a deep-seated need inside of her. 

Her heart ached in her chest and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to figure out how to fix this mark on her body then she could have a baby. Or perhaps she’d meet her magical match that night. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of a magical match. 

Then she could heal herself and have a baby. Yes, she thought, excitedly and a little less rationally than she normally was. That would be the best outcome for tonight.

Hermione donned her mask. She’d been told to hide her identity under the guise of her patron goddess for the ritual -- as everyone else in her coven and the all-male coven they were performing the ritual with would be doing the same. With that in mind, Hermione had made herself a mask of green leaves and blossoming flowers. She’d matched it with a crown made of long green stalks of lavender, woven together, and budding with pretty purple petals.

As the mask fell into place over her lightly freckled face, magic rippled around her. The enchantments she’d embedded into the mask stopped anyone from knowing her true face and voice. Tonight was not about a meeting of the minds. 

It was a meeting of magic.

The will of their patrons would guide the Daughters of the Cult of Goddesses and the Sons of the Cult of Gods to the right magical mate -- male, female, or otherwise. If that person wasn’t there, Hermione would spend her moon filled night in vestal solitude. That thought comforted her as much as it disappointed her. She knew her life was chaotic enough without a spouse and a baby, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was exactly what she needed. She'd tirelessly pushed herself through school and then a career. She'd moved away from home and chased dark wizards up and down Europe in the hopes she could make the world a better place.

But she was alone. She was always alone. There was no guarantee that she would meet her magical match that night. If anything, it was highly improbable. Despite the odds, Hermione couldn't help but hope it would happen. Her desire to have a baby these last six months might still feel new, but her desire to not be lonely was much older. Perhaps tonight would be a long night under the new moon and sky of stars, but it would be better if it were filled with magic and hope for the future.

A warning tingle of magic raced through her body. The ritual had begun.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hermione picked up the white pillar candle she’d placed at the centre of her altar. It sat at the edge of the water and was created with a collection of berries, flowers, and stones. 

Hermione lit the candle with a flicker of magic and raised her hand to protect the delicate flame from the wind. 

“Oh, Mother Goddess,” Hermione called out into the night, “Sister Mother of the Powerful Three. I, Hermione Jane Granger, daughter of your magic and follower of your path, call on you in all your maternal power.” 

An immense power erupted from the earth all around her. Hermione’s lashes fluttered as the warm magic swept up around her, rustling the grass and bending the branches of the willow tree. Her magic sang in her chest in response to the presence of her patron goddess. 

Gaia’s magic felt grounding and comforting to the young witch. Her patron goddess, while dangerous to others in stories of the past, had only been kind and loving to Hermione since they’d found one another. Gaia soothed Hermione’s anxiety about the mating ritual. All her unease swept away with the breeze.

“Please, Gaia,” Hermione continued in a softer voice, now that her goddess was with her, “guide me, on this most magically pure night of Ostara. I trust in you. I put my life, my magic, and my heart in your hands.”

Gaia’s power warmed against her. The magical aura pushed in on Hermione gently and the young witch had the oddest feeling that the goddess was hugging her. 

Hermione’s eyes opened once Gaia’s aura had sunk back into the earth. She hadn’t even realized she’d closed them. The candle still flickered brightly in her hand. She set it down at the edge of the bank in her little altar.

“Blessed be,” Hermione whispered into the night. She released a breath of relief. It'd worked. It had actually worked. That was the first time she'd ever performed a magical ritual on her own. It was the only complicated magic involved in Ostara, hence why it was to be her first ritual with both covens.

Hermione couldn't help the little smile that stretched across her face at her success.

With her ritual finished, she turned and headed into the magical forest situated on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow. That’s where the mating ritual would take place, she’d been told.

Any number of members from both covens would be starting to head into the forest as well. They were evenly spaced out at different points, so they wouldn’t meet until they were well into the forest. The mating ritual was meant to be a journey. One did not have their fate simply thrust into their hands without effort. 

If Hermione was meant to find her magical match that night, Gaia would guide her to them. Others might be forced to prove their worth to their patron gods. Perhaps Gaia would ask the same of her as well? The High Priestess of the Cult of Goddesses had informed Hermione that it was unlikely. Gaia was a mother goddess and it wasn’t her way to push her children into anything, but rather guide them and protect them from harm.

Hermione had only met the High Priestess, Pandora Lovegood, and a few of the coven’s inner circle so far. Pandora had been kind and supportive through Hermione’s integration into Wiccan magic. She was more than forthcoming with information on how Hermione was meant to honour her patron goddess and they’d performed a number of Sabbats since her inclusion.

It was the Wiccan holidays that Hermione had wanted in on. Those days were full of magical power and potential. That’s where the higher magics were manipulated. But to use the higher magics, the coven had to join with their all-male counterpart, the Cult of Gods. Hermione had yet to interact with the male coven at all.

As she walked further into the woods with the trees closing in on her from all directions, she couldn’t help but feel like it was a very visual representation of how she felt. Unknown gods and goddesses lurked in the shadows of the trees. Higher magics danced in the wind and rustled the branches. Hermione stood at the centre of an entire world of unknown possibilities -- alone.

She froze in the middle of the forest and looked around. She tried to see past the trees and to the town just beyond, but it was lost amongst the dark woods. She was lost. She wasn’t sure how far she’d travelled.

Hermione wondered if one of the members of the Cult of Gods lived near Godric’s Hollow. It was such a random location to use. Godric’s Hollow was a sleepy magical town with a high population of elderly magicals. The thought of an archaic, ritual magic mating taking place there was almost comical. 

Perhaps the High Priest lived near there? Pandora had mentioned him in passing, but nothing concrete. Hermione didn’t even know how large the male cult was. That would change after tonight. 

She continued walking.

An interminable amount of time later, she broke through the treeline.

A sliver of light from the new moon lit the clearing she’d found her way into. She drew her wand and cast several bluebell flames into the air to provide herself with some light. There was a sharp incline and a wall of rocks. Water trickled down the stone and into the pool of water at its base. Hermione glanced up at the moon and estimated at least two hours had passed since the ritual had begun. She had yet to pass anyone in the dark woods.

Hermione stepped further into the clearing. The grass was greener here and Hermione could see little dark buds from flowers not yet bloomed. Hermione bent down and touched one of the little buds at the bank of the pond. The flower blossomed. The petals opened to reveal a soft pink centre. Her fingers ran across the silky smoothness.

She looked up and saw that the mossy wall of stone and water had bloomed as well. Flowers dotted the stone, open and welcoming.

Hermione smiled. She could feel Gaia’s magic thrumming through the earth. A warm breeze gently caressed her cheek. 

Gaia wanted her to stay here, Hermione immediately knew. Vestal solitude it was, she thought and her heart squeezed in her chest. Hermione swallowed down her sadness, knowing that it was probably a smarter option to fix her body before she had a baby. She closed her eyes and willed away the image of a little curly haired baby with dark brown eyes.

She laid down across the grass at the edge of the bank. The flowers rose and bloomed around her, tangling with her hair and kissing her skin before they rose towards the sky. 

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in Gaia’s overwhelming power. She felt the plants growing rapidly around her. She could sense the way they communicated to each other through their roots in the earth. The soft trickling of the waterfall filled her ears. 

When she opened her eyes again, she determined that another hour must have passed. Midnight had passed. Several more hours were yet to come before the pinky colours of dawn would stretch across the sky. 

Snap.

Hermione’s head whipped around to the treeline. Big brown eyes in a long face emerged from the woods. A doe, Hermione realized. She slowly rose up to her knees as the animal cautiously made its way towards her.

Hermione eyed the animal warily. There was something… foreign about the animal. It wasn’t until the doe was only a foot away that she realized what was so wrong.

The animal was shrouded in a different magic. This wasn’t an animal guide given by Gaia. This was a male god reaching out to her.

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d never interacted with a male god before -- not even an animal guide given by one. She raised her hand and gently placed her fingers along the animal’s narrow snout. Her fur was gentle as she leaned into Hermione’s touch.

Another foreign magic touched Gaia’s clearing. Hermione turned her head, expecting to see another doe or possibly even a baby fawn. Instead, she saw a man. 

He stood tall and at the edge of the clearing with a set of stag’s horns protruding from his head. He was naked save for a brown loincloth around his hips and a metal torc at his neck. He was incredibly tall, even from so far away. His muscular legs and arms were completely bare and did little to detract from the sight of his well-defined abdominal. 

Hermione’s shoulders curled inward at the sight of him. He looked so perfect. Why did he have to look perfect? Even the stag horns couldn’t detract from the sharp lines of his abdomen. 

Hermione shifted backward. She didn’t think leaving was much of an option, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for this. In the hours that had whiled away, Hermione had convinced herself that nothing would happen that night. Now, faced with the prospect that everything was about to happen, Hermione couldn't help but want to flee into the forest. 

The doe nudged her cheek. She turned to it and watched as the animal moved to the edge of the bank and bent its head to drink. 

“Merry meet,” the wizard greeted as he slowly made his way towards her. 

His voice was deep and confident. He walked with purpose, his broad shoulders drawn back. He had a close-shaven beard across his jawline and dark curly hair. As he neared her, Hermione could feel the tingle of his magic as it spread across the clearing. It was the same as the doe’s magic and Hermione guessed that was because the doe was the man’s magical guide.

The doe had guided him to her.

Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest.

“Merry meet,” she whispered in return.

He was at the end of the pool of water. Bright eyes glittered at her from under heavy brows. Hermione swallowed nervously. 

“May I join you?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the ball of anxiety in her throat. Her fingers were shaking. Her skin felt tight and itchy. She fought not to shift and fidget. She was nervous out of her mind about his presence here and what that meant for where the night was going to go, but she didn’t want him to know that.

He sat down beside her, far enough away that she didn’t feel her anxiety rise but close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. 

“I thought Artemis, for sure,” he said, his eyes on the doe on the other side of her. 

Hermione turned to stare at the doe as it settled down to sleep. Flowers grew and blossomed around it in a welcoming embrace. Any concerns Hermione had about Gaia’s position on the man’s presence vanished at the sight of the flowers.

“She’s the female counterpart to Cernunnos, but the flowers are wrong. Demeter, perhaps?” 

He raised an eyebrow at her in question. He wasn’t wearing a mask, but she didn’t recognize him at all. A glamour, she realized belatedly. It was likely attached to the torc at his neck. How else would he have gotten antlers on his head but with a glamour?

“Cernunnos is the god of the hunt?” Hermione asked, trying to remember the name. He was Celtic, she thought.

He nodded. “Represented by the image of a stag. I’m dressed in his form.” He eyed her flower crown and Grecian style robes. They were all supposed to be dressed in the guise of their patron gods.

“Stags can be aggressive,” Hermione mused as she glanced over at the sleeping doe. “I don’t think Gaia would have allowed a stag into the clearing when I’m vulnerable.”

“You’re a daughter of Gaia?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I am.”

He blinked widely. Now that he was closer, she could see a ring of tawny brown, mixed with the green and blue in his eyes.

“I’m honoured,” he said in a reverent tone of voice. 

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. The high priestess had instilled a great understanding in her of just how important it was that her patron goddess was Gaia. Gaia was not only one of the most powerful female gods, but an old one as well. Cernunnos was a popular god, by comparison. He could die, but Gaia would exist until the end of time.

A long silence passed.

Hermione resolutely stared across the clearing. The combined magic of Gaia and Cernunnos drifted around the space like a drug. Both were fertility gods, she knew, and she could feel the effects that their magics were having on her. Her toes curled in the grass as the insistent, needy feeling in her core grew stronger.

“Is this your first major ritual?” he asked.

Hermione tensed. She didn’t dare look at him as she nodded quickly. She heard him shift and when he spoke again, his voice was closer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The tension in her shoulders lifted at the question. She snuck a glance at him and froze when she met his bright hazel eyes. He was staring right at her, completely unashamed of his nearly naked state or the fact that the fertility magic in the air was having a very obvious effect on him. Hermione felt her face burn hot at the tented cloth that barely managed to conceal his erection from sight.

“I’m not a virgin,” she quickly said. 

She felt like it needed to be said. While she couldn’t quite place the man before her -- perhaps they’d never met at all -- she could tell he was older. Hermione, despite being twenty-five, knew she looked far younger. She still got mistaken for a minor and most of the men she’d been with had assumed it was her first time.

The wizard raised an eyebrow. “You’re blush says otherwise.” His amusement was obvious and Hermione visibly bristled.

“Well, excuse me for not being perfectly comfortable shagging a stranger in the middle of a forest.”

He tilted his head. “Alright, I can see how this might be overwhelming, especially for your first major ritual. But if anything, it’s the best one to have gotten.” He shrugged. “There’s no intricate ritual blessings or dances or sacrifices-” Hermione’s eyes widened and he rushed on to say “-animal sacrifices.”

A charming grin spread across his bearded face. “This is just sex.”

She scoffed loudly. “It’s a ritual mating. We’re getting married.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “And both our patron gods are fertility gods. They’ve been dousing this clearing in enough fertility magic to get all of Godric’s Hollow pregnant.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as the words left her mouth. Her stomach clenched in anticipation. This was it. This was everything she'd been dreaming about for months. She wanted to shove him onto his back and have her wicked way with him. Her mind spun and her lashes fluttered as her breathing grew heavy.

His grin deepened at her words and the effect they had on her. His eyes smouldered. He raised a hand to her face and his thumb stroked across her plump bottom lip. Hermione’s breath hitched. Her skin tingled where he touched. A waft of heady magic drifted over her. Before she could stop herself, her tongue darted out and tasted the tip of his thumb.

She felt his forehead press against the side of her own. His nose nudged her cheek as he drank in the scent of her skin. 

“Lay back,” he ordered in a low, husky voice.

Hermione was shocked by the thrum of arousal that swept through her. She didn’t think she’d ever been with a wizard that dared order her about. She found herself laying back without a word of complaint. 

His hands trailed up her calf and curled around the soft skin of her inner knee. Lips pressed against her thigh. Hermione bit her lip at the sight of him slowly spreading her legs apart to make room for himself. His antlers had disappeared and Hermione wondered how he’d changed the glamour so quickly.

Her thoughts were quickly derailed when he lifted her dress to the tops of her thighs. The warm spring air met her bare skin. The wind danced across her sensitive flesh, its gentle touch worked in direct contrast to the rough pads of her lover’s fingers. His thumbs pressed into the meaty flesh of her thighs. His tongue tasted her inner thigh. 

Hermione moaned before she could stop herself. She wound her fingers into his dark curly hair. The heady magic in the air teased her senses. Every breath she took filled the lustful fire in her belly. 

He groaned against her sensitive skin. His hot breath teased the bottom of her dress. Hermione squirmed. She grabbed her skirt and pulled it up the last few inches to reveal her bare skin to him. 

Teeth gently nipped at her inner thigh and Hermione gasped with delight. 

“I was going to do that,” he reprimanded.

A smile spread across Hermione’s face. “Sorry.” She sounded as apologetic as she felt. 

He chuckled against her thigh. Despite her bare core spread before him, he continued his ministrations on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He slowly kissed and nipped his way to her other one. He made it to the height of her leg before sucking the skin into his mouth, forming a hickey there that she would surely feel tomorrow. His fingers lightly skimmed her core as he sucked on her skin. 

Hermione’s eyes widened as she gasped.

He hardly touched her. His fingers left the ghost of their presence along her labia. The sensation shot electric shocks through Hermione’s whole system. Her entire focus narrowed to a point that was entirely fixated on the way her lover teased her entrance. The rough pad of his thumb swept across her vagina with a feather light touch. Hermione’s entire body jerked in shock. 

“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he whispered before tonguing the hickey he’d left on her thigh. His thumb dipped into the slick that trailed down her core. “You’re dripping.”

Hermione squirmed. Her chest heaved as she panted for breath. 

Her lover hitched her leg over his shoulder and Hermione’s breath caught. Her core clenched in anticipation. A long moment of stillness passed in which Hermione’s body remained tense as a bow for her lover’s next movements. Her fingers curled into the grass. She didn’t even dare to breathe.

His tongue gently stroked her opening all the way up to her clit.

A cry was torn from Hermione’s throat. She gasped, red faced and panting as she arched her back. Her hips lifted involuntarily. He pressed her bottom back to the earth before following his first stroke with another. He continued to be as gentle with his touches as he had before.

He teased her forward. The soft sensations forced her entire body into hyper-awareness. She could feel every blade of grass against her body, the wind on her skin, and the gentle press of his tongue against her clit. The sound of her stuttering breath was so loud in her ears she couldn’t hear anything else above it. 

The stars grew fuzzy above her eyes as her gaze turned hazy. The fog of lust and desire clouded her sight. Her mind melted to the singular focus of the way he touched and licked her body. His slow strokes abruptly stopped and before Hermione could even register it, his lips circled her clit and sucked harshly. 

Hermione screamed as she came. The world slammed back into crisp focus.

Hermione twisted. Her back arched. He didn’t stop sucking on her clit, pushing her through the intensity of her orgasm with no mercy. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

She gasped for breath as she came down from her high. 

Gentle kisses pressed against her mons. Hermione threaded her fingers through her lover’s hair. She blinked lazily with heavy-lidded eyes. Her body thrummed with the aftershocks of post-orgasmic bliss. 

Hermione hummed happily. She didn’t think she’d ever orgasmed like that before. Kisses pressed against her lower belly that slowly inched further upward. It was just as fingers touched the puckered, scarred skin at her belly button that reality woke Hermione from her bliss.

Her eyes shot wide and her entire body tensed. Her hands shot out to grab the wizard’s wrists.

“What-”

“-Don’t!”

She sat up, forcing him to do the same. His brows were drawn together in confusion. Hermione’s heart raced in her chest. Had he seen it? Had he felt it? She felt sick to her stomach.

She’d only had sex once since she’d gotten her scar and she’d been sure that the lights were off and it was from behind. She didn’t want anymore pitying stares.

He looked at her with wide eyes, his hands raised non threateningly. “Alright?”

“I just - I…” The excuse that she didn’t like the missionary position died on her tongue. He looked so concerned. 

Hermione felt her anxiety skyrocket. Her throat constricted and her eyes burned with tears. She squeezed her eyes shut before he could see her fracturing right before him.

Gentle hands cupped her face. His thumbs ran soothingly across her cheeks.

“Take a deep breath,” he told her in a low, calming voice. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Hermione followed his instruction with shaky breaths as she fought down her tears. Her fingers curled around his forearms. She followed his guided breaths until the tightness of her throat dissipated and the itching behind her eyes eased.

When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her with concern but no pity. 

“Better?” 

She nodded silently. 

He released her and Hermione immediately missed the warmth of his hands on her cheeks. He raised his fingers to the torc around his neck and touched it. His glamour wavered and a scar appeared on his chest. It was wide and pink, the skin puckered and tough. Her stomach dropped with the realization that he had, in fact, seen her scar. Her despair was momentarily overshadowed by the shock and curiosity of seeing the scars on his chest.

“I have one here.” He twisted so she could see a long scar that ran down his upper arm. “And another one here. There’s plenty along my back.”

Hermione blinked widely. “Where? How?” She reached forward and paused just before touching the scar on his deltoid. He didn’t try to stop her, but she hesitated, regardless.

“The war, mostly.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up to meet his. He’d fought in the war? He could only mean one war -- the Blood War that had plagued Magical Britain in the ’70s. He’d fought in that? 

“The scars on my back are from a few tumbles I took with a werewolf during the full moon.”

Hermione gasped. Her hands touched his chest and applied a small amount of pressure. “It’s painful for werewolves to be out during the new moon.”

His lips quirked at her worried tone. “I’m not a werewolf. I was in my animagus form during the fights. The scars remain but no werewolf infection is passed.”

Hermione tilted her head. He voluntarily spent a full moon with a werewolf? Several, by the sounds of it. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. An animagus? Her eyes slowly ticked up to the place he’d had antlers growing out of not long ago. 

“A stag.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

Hermione looked back down at the scars on his chest. “Don’t you hate them?” she asked in a small voice.

Large, warm hands circled her hips. He gently pulled her closer. “They used to,” he confided. “I’ve been told I’m a rather vain man and the scars certainly bothered me for a bit. But it’s hard to stay upset about them when my best friend has scars far worse than mine.”

His werewolf friend, she suspected. Few of them were able to get away from a full moon without a few scars. Her fingers traced the pucked skin of a scar that ran down his shoulder, opposite the scar on his deltoid.

“But they don’t bother me anymore and they haven’t for a long time.” He raised a hand to her face and gently cupped her cheek. He ducked his head so that he could stare directly into her eyes. “Our lives are made up of moments. Good ones and bad ones. Sometimes, those moments are so great, they leave marks on our bodies -- physical and emotional.” 

His thumb stroked her belly, skimming along the edge of her scar. Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest. 

“But those moments and the marks they leave don’t define you -- what you do with those moments and how you let them affect your life… that defines you.”

Hermione’s eyes teared. “It’s ugly,” she choked out.

“Life isn’t meant to be pretty,” he whispered. “Life is hard. It’s painful. As a daughter of Gaia, she’ll teach you that there is nothing more painful than bringing life into this world. That leaves scars too.”

“That’s different.” 

“They’re all moments. Good and bad. They make up who we are. If you take even a single moment away, you would erase the person you are right now.”

Hermione was quiet while she let those words sink in. She considered where she’d be if not there. Back in Amsterdam, working with the ICW as a Hit Witch? Hunting down rogue dark wizards, living from hotel to hotel out of a suitcase and off of take-out. With still no serious boyfriends and a distant relationship with her parents -- the product of years away from home?

Now she was finally home again. She saw her parents weekly. She was learning to cook and take care of herself properly. She was studying arcane magic that her younger self wouldn’t have dared dream about. She was on her knees, staring into the eyes of her magical mate. 

Would she have ever had these things in her life if she hadn’t been attacked by Dolohov? Was she letting him define her life? Or was she taking control of her own again? She liked to think it was the latter, but she felt just as out of control now as she always had, perhaps even before the attack had happened.

Hermione blinked away the tears in her eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I do,” he replied solemnly. “As much as I’d like my body to stay the way it was when I was fresh out of school, it’s got to change. We all do eventually.”

Hermione felt her cheeks tinge pink as she mumbled, “I think your body’s beautiful.”

A charming smile spread across his face. He leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on her lips. Hermione’s lashes fluttered shut. She drank in the scent of him. The scent of the forest and the heady magic all around them clouded her senses. 

He pulled back just a fraction. His lips brushed against hers as he whispered, “I’d like to see your body.”

Hermione’s heart raced. She stared into his blue-green eyes, hypnotized by the flecks of tawny brown. Just the sight of him was enough to lower her barriers. The added fertility magic that their gods had layered on the clearing they were in fastened her desire for him.

She didn’t even know who this man was, but she trusted him implicitly. They were magical matches, afterall. There would be no one in the world that would ever know her to the same extent that he would know her. 

Hermione wanted to lose herself in him. She wanted to feel him surrounding her, inside her, filling every sense until all she could taste and feel was him. 

She pressed her lips against his in a breathless kiss. Her arms wound around his neck and drew him closer. His hands circled her waist before he pulled her into his lap. Hermione took advantage of the position and immediately ground into him, hoping to get him as aroused as he’d been only moments ago. 

He groaned into the kiss. Hermione smiled, feeling powerful having such a beautiful man at her mercy. She nipped at his bottom lip and he willingly opened his mouth to her. His hands tightened on her hips and guided her motions, forcing her to continue her grinding against him. 

He captured one of her wrists and guided her hand to his slowly growing erection. Hermione’s tanned fingers slipped under the tiny bit of fabric that concealed the only part of him that was covered. She wrapped her hand around his cock and almost moaned in happiness at the thick feel of it in her palm. 

He gently kissed her jaw as his hand cupped her face. Her hand stroked him under the scrap of fabric.

“Good girl,” he whispered and Hermione almost came on the spot. She whined needily and was rewarded with the press of his thumb against her clit. 

“Oh, please,” she panted breathlessly. 

“Please, what?”

His thumb stroked her clit and she squirmed in his lap. He hissed sharply when her fingers tightened around his length.

“Put a baby in me,” she pleaded. 

Her eyes widened once the words had left her mouth. She hadn’t told anyone about her sudden desire for a baby, not even the head priestess. Hermione felt a familiar bubble of anxiety claw its way up her throat. 

Before the anxiety could fully take root in her, her lover raised his hands to cradle her face. He looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I intend to.”

Hermione moaned. She moved as if to launch herself at her magical match, but he forestalled her with a simple press to keep her at bay. She bit back the needy whine that threatened to escape. 

“Take off your dress for me.” 

She stilled. Her eyes widened. 

His eyes showed no cruelty or pity. He was serious about his command though, Hermione could see it in the lines on either side of his mouth. “If you’re not ready to take your dress off, you’re not ready for a baby.”

Hermione visibly shook. She stared into his eyes and could feel her own begin to tear. She wanted this. Great Gaia, did she want this. A still rational part of her mind knew her need for a baby was being doubled by the fertility magic all around them. Their gods' powers were heightening her wants and desires. Her desire was so great, it was clouding her thoughts and words. 

But the command to show her scars to him cut through the fog like a sharp knife. Was she ready to bare herself before this man? This stranger? She’d agreed to this ritual before she entered the forest, she knew what she was getting into. Was there even an option to back out? The look in her lover’s eyes told her there was, even though she'd previously thought there wasn't. 

This was it. This was her moment to turn her back. 

If she didn’t continue, then she’d likely be cast out of the Cult of Goddesses. She wouldn’t be able to continue this new study of arcane magic. She wouldn’t ever find a solution to her scar. 

Or she could trust this veritable stranger. It felt silly. It was just a scar. It was just her body. But it hadn’t felt like her body in a while. Perhaps that’s what Gaia was trying to help her realize in wanting her to have a baby. It was her body. It was full of her desires. It was hers to use in whatever way she wanted. Gaia had brought her desires forth to confront what she wanted to do with her body, what she wanted for her own future -- one that was separate from the emotional pain of Dolohov's curse.

If she walked away now, Gaia would desert her. The need for a baby would leave or at the very least go back into the corner of her mind that she’d once banished the thoughts of love and a family to hide in. Hermione had never really considered she’d get married even before she was attacked. 

Hermione looked up and her brown eyes met her lover’s hazel gaze. He wanted her. He wanted a baby with her. He wanted to love every inch of her body just the way it was.

Perhaps it wasn’t about removing Dolohov’s mark from her body so much that it was about loving her body for the way it was, regardless of its marks.

Moments leave marks, he’d said. 

She wondered if this one would too.

Hermione’s fingers shook as they curled around the hem of her dress. Slowly, she drew the white fabric up her body and over her head. Her hair fell back into place, reaching her hips in a waterfall of chocolate curls. Her little crown of lavender was barely jostled.

Her magical match stared into her eyes. A calloused hand gently spread across her scarred stomach. Hermione’s breath hitched. His skin radiated warmth against her flesh, damp with sweat. Her chest heaved.

“You’re perfect.”

Hermione’s eyes teared. 

“Lay back for me, sweetheart.”

She slipped off his thighs without complaint and laid back against the cool grass. She watched him slowly remove the loincloth and toss it aside to join her discarded dress. Hermione's heart raced inside her chest. 

He slowly crawled over her. His knee parted her legs and she willingly opened them wider. He propped a hand beside her head and stared down into her eyes.

“Are you on the potion?”

She quickly shook her head.

He raised an eyebrow. “Came here hoping for a baby, darling?”

Something about the way he called her ‘darling’ had her toes curling into the grass blades. Her nipples visibly tightened and he smirked down at her. 

“My goddess helped me… find my desire for one.”

He raised a dark brow. “Is that so?” 

He leaned closer and his lean body weighed down on her. She could feel his hardness pressing into her and Hermione squirmed against him restlessly. He was unmoved by her neediness.

“All I can think about lately is having a baby.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “Is that your fault, darling?” His free hand curled around her knee and lifted her leg to hook over his hip. He slid closer, teasing her opening. Hermione’s eyes widened as she gasped. “My magical match decided she wanted a baby and now I’m suddenly waking up every night completely hard like a little school boy.”

Hermione arched her back. Her breasts pressed into his chest. “Please,” she pleaded.

“Please, what?” he repeated teasingly.

Hermione groaned in frustration. She could feel him pressing against her opening. He was so close, it wasn’t fair. He was torturing her. “Please, put a baby in me,” she gasped out.

His smile widened. “All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

He entered her in a single, sold thrust. Hermione’s back arched as she cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The fertility magic in the clearing rose up with a gust of wind and swirled around them in sparkling gold dust. The fertility magic painted their skin gold. Their forms glowed under the moonlight. Hermione’s eyes rolled back as she felt the energy roll against her body.

The feeling of him inside of her was transcendent. Hermione’s head spun. Her breath caught in her throat and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get it back.

He pulled almost all the way back out before slamming back into her. Hermione jerked with the power of his thrusts. Her fingers pressed little half-moons into his shoulders. She knew she was drawing blood -- leaving more marks on his already scarred body. 

Hermione moaned deliriously. 

The sound of their coupling filled the clearing. The heady magic continued to circle around them in bright, glittering lights. It fell around them like faerie dust, sprinkling their bodies with shimmering light and sensual magic. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck. “You’re so wet for me. You feel so fucking good.”

Hermione cried out. The timbre of his voice vibrated against her chest. Every little feeling heightened her arousal. The wind against her skin. The blades of grass poking against her back. The soft petals of the flowers that bloomed up around their bodies.

She could feel her core slowly tightening, winding closer to a high peak of pleasure. He ground down on the next thrust and she raised her hips to meet him. He came then and spilled himself inside of her. The fertility magic glittering on their bodies vibrated with power. Every inch of her skin was infused with the fertility magic and it was more than enough to send Hermione into bliss alongside her lover. 

She tipped her head back as the power of her orgasm washed over her. Her eyes widened. In the midst of her orgasm, she felt like she was floating amongst the star-filled sky that she saw far above her. The fertility magic hummed pleasantly against her skin -- satisfied just as much as they were.

The world blurred as her heartbeat began to slow. The weight of her lover on her body was warm and comforting. He rolled to his side and took her with him. Hermione murmured contentedly as she rested her head against his sweat-slicked chest. 

A whispered accio was followed by the feel of her dress spreading across their naked forms. She felt his hand in her hair and realized her crown had fallen off at some point during their ritual mating.

Her breath hitched as the realization hit her. She was married. Hermione looked up at her lover -- her magical match -- her husband. 

“Hermione.”

He turned his hazel gaze towards her.

“My name,” she explained. “It’s Hermione. Hermione Granger.”

“Potter,” he immediately corrected. “Hermione Potter.” 

He lifted a hand and pulled off the torc at his neck. His glamour fell away and Hermione was left with the handsome visage of none other than James Potter.

The most eligible bachelor in Magical Britain.

Her cheeks burned hotly. She’d married James Potter? He was nearly two decades older than her, though he certainly didn’t look it. Great Gaia, Hermione thought as her blush deepened, she’d gone to school with his son. They’d barely interacted, him being a Gryffindor and her a Ravenclaw, but it was still… uncomfortable. 

James was divorced, she knew. He had been since the war ended in the early 80s. He’d been given the title of most eligible bachelor not long after the finalization of his divorce and had kept it ever since. He’d never been caught even on a date with a witch until his son turned sixteen. 

What would he think, she wondered in muted horror, that he’d married a witch only a year older than his only child?

“I’m James,” he introduced, despite the fact that her wide-eyed stare had given away her foreknowledge, “I’m the High Priest for the Cult of Gods.”

Hermione choked on a startled breath.  _ That _ she had not known. “The High Priest?” she squeaked.

He laughed, low and rich. He fingered her mask. “Is that a problem, Hermione?”

The roll of her name across his tongue was sinful. She nodded hesitantly before she slowly pulled off her own mask. He smiled at the sight of her face. His thumb brushed against her freckled cheek. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Now’s where you tell me I’m the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.”

The joke surprised a laugh out of her. She wrinkled her nose as a smile touched her lips. “I would hate to lie on my wedding night.” 

James’ eyes widened. “You cheeky witch.” He rolled her onto her back and pinned her hands above her head. “I think that deserves a punishment, acolyte.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Again? Already?”

His eyes narrowed to thin slits. “I think I’ve made it very clear that I don’t need to use my exemplary cock to make you come.” 

She snorted. “You were less mouthy before I knew your name.”

He laughed. “The same could be said for you.” 

James leaned forward and kissed her hotly. Hermione arched her back so she could press her bare breasts against his chest. James sank into the cradle of her hips as he snogged her thoroughly. When he pulled back, she was breathless and starry-eyed.

“Now,” he continued, equally breathless, “we’ve still got an hour or two before sunrise. How many times do you think I can make you come between now and then?”

A shiver of excitement shot through Hermione’s body. She was all too eager to figure out the answer to that question.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot for the Devious & Diverse New Year Challenge with Kinks of Knockturn Alley on FB (And Tumblr, I think?). The prompt was "Secret Societies" and also partially inspired by the Lupercalia ritual from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. It also has very heavy tones of my story The Marked One, which is also a Jamione. You could easily read this as an AU of that story. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! xx


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